


Healing Touch

by AkakoDukes



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, People give a shit about Tucker, Pre-Season/Series 13, Sickfic, friends who are assholes and who care
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6445948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkakoDukes/pseuds/AkakoDukes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bronchitis, it happens. So do shitty patients.</p>
<p>The Reds and Blues make sure Tucker doesn't do something stupid while he's sick. </p>
<p>It's harder than it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to Mel for looking over the first few chapters for me. <3

Today fucking sucked. Tucker had woken before dawn to hack up a lung, except nothing would come loose from his chest. So he stayed in bed under his warm covers, and listened to Caboose snoring in the next room. It certainly didn’t help that the air in the room didn’t want to let him breathe comfortably. Yet with all of this warmth, he was still freezing.

 

He must have dozed off again, because he started when the covers were pulled away from his face. He finally focused on the concerned  blue eyes of Caboose above him.  “Tucker? Are you okay? I heard you coughing. Church says coughing is bad, and so I brought you water.” 

 

Tucker couldn’t help but smile as he let his eyes dart to the water in Caboose’s hands, held like a toddler. Kid’s heart was in the right place. “Thanks, bud.” He winced at his voice, which had come out as more of a rasp than anything, and Caboose put the water in his hands. 

 

“Drink this, stupid Tucker. I am going to get Agent Washington.” He was up and out of the room before Tucker could clear his throat enough to tell him not to bother with Wash. He would be doing another leg day anyway. Maybe not as harsh, but still.    
  
Tucker sighed, coughed, and sipped the water. Of course, after he’d smelled it to make sure it wasn’t something else. This was Caboose after all. Caboose always managed to find a way to fuck something up. 

 

That’s how he would pass the time until Wash came to wake him. He’d play ‘How Many Times Caboose Done Fucked Up.’ First up: when Caboose managed to let Donut get their flag way back in  Blood Gulch. He’d joined the fucking  Blue Army for fuck’s sake. You’d think he’d  realize the other guy wore fucking red. Then of course the obvious: shooting Church with the goddamn  tank . 

 

Tucker made himself more comfortable in his bed, curling up into a ball with his head uncovered for the fresh air because when he tried the covers  over his head , he just couldn’t breathe.

 

He couldn’t remember what woke him next, be it the cool  hand on his cheek, Caboose chattering in the hallway, or the coughing that shook his shoulders yet didn’t seem to satisfy that odd feeling in his chest that made him want to cough harder. So he did. (It’s not like his fucking lungs were giving him much choice.) By the time he could catch his breath and open his eyes, there were several people in his room. He saw Wash right away, hovering over him, one  hand on his shoulder, the other on Tucker’s back, since he was on his side.  Caboose was clutching another glass of water behind Wash, eyes wide and mouth pressed into a concerned line. Behind him was Dr.  Grey , helmet still on and a utilitarian bag over her shoulder. Fucking Palomo was in the hall with Grif keeping him from entering like a not so silent sentinel. He could hear the occasional swear from him. 

 

“Well now,”  Grey ’s chipper voice rang through the room, and Tucker had to fight not to cringe, though he did let his eyes fall shut again. When  Grey next spoke, her voice was softer, and he had a feeling Wash had given her a look, but he didn’t want to open his eyes again. “I think I’ve heard what I need to hear, but to be safe, I’m going to have to look at you, Mr. Tucker. “ There was the hiss of a helmet releasing, and Wash’s hand moved across his back as he struggled not to cough. “Easy, I didn’t bring the scalpels or anything. I just want to…” There was a hum as her scanner activated, and there was no way Tucker was opening his eyes now. Just thinking about that bright light hurt. He heard  Grey mumble to herself, and then something cold was on his back. He jumped and coughed harshly, and glared at the insane doctor once his eyes were open again. She was unapologetic. “You’re congested, your  blood pressure is up, and you’re running a fever. Not to mention that cough. Best thing is to let you run through a course of antibiotics and something to stop the coughing and  knock you out .” 

 

Tucker groaned. “No, I’ve got-” His voice gave out there, and Caboose came up with the water then.  Tucker slapped away Wash’s hands and sat up on his own to take it and drink from it. 

 

Of course, Wash took this time to interrupt what he wanted to say. “Tucker, you can’t talk loudly enough to form a single sentence, and you want to go and train? Are you sure that fever isn’t higher?” Wash’s hand was on his head again, blond brow furrowed as he looked up at the doctor.

 

Tucker glared and huffed in frustration. “Fuck you,” he hissed as loudly as he dared, especially since he was getting that feeling in the back of his throat again. Shallow breaths it was then. Wash held his hands up in mock surrender. 

 

Doctor  Grey spoke up once more. “Now you listen. You need to  take it easy and rest. That means no training, no running, no anything other than getting up to walk to get food or go to the bathroom, and I making myself clear?” Her voice was bright, but as always with her, there was steel behind the tone. 

 

_ Sure, Doctor, whatever you say _ , Tucker thought to himself, flopping back onto the bed, a cough knocked loose as he hit. That didn’t mean when he was alone and finally on whatever drugs she was going to give him that he wasn’t just going to do what he wanted anyway. He just didn’t have to get his ass caught. He’d already spent too much time on his ass after he’d gotten fucking  _ stabbed _ thank you very fucking much. So he waved his hand above his head and hoped his message of ‘whatever, you dumb assholes’ got through. 

 

Clearly it did, because Wash said, “Yeah, you going down without a fight? Bullshit.” Tucker turned his head so he could level what he could only hope was a fierce glare, because in the next moment he sneezed twice, one right after another. He hoped it got on Wash. “Yeah, okay.” He gave Tucker an unimpressed look and turned to Doctor  Grey . “You just let me know what he needs to take and when Doctor. I’ll make sure it happens. And if I can’t, I’ll make sure someone else will.” Tucker didn’t really care at that point, because he’d let his eyes slide shut again. Fuck this being tired shit. It was interfering with his fucking plans. The voices drifted away from him, and Tucker slipped into sleep far easier than he thought he’d be able to. 

 

\--

 

The next time Tucker woke, it wasn’t Wash by his bed, and what he could see of the light seemed dimmer. Carolina sat there reading over reports that Kimball had given her, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that Tucker was staring right at her bright red hair and green eyes. Her helmet was on the floor beside a chair that Tucker didn’t remember being in his room. Church winked into existence by her head, all floaty and  blue and stared right at Tucker, who just blinked right back at him. 

 

“Evening lazy ass,” Church stated flatly. “Didn’t think you’d find another excuse to sit around and do nothing so soon after being fucking stabbed.” For some reason Church seemed angry. 

 

Carolina didn’t look away from her reports, but her voice carried a warning, “Epsilon.”

 

Church sighed and turned to Carolina and gestured back toward Tucker. “Well he’s the only one that could have had pneumonia in a fucking hot climate. He’s fucking lucky it was bronchitis.” 

 

“Right fucking here dude.” His voice sounded like he’d been back in the desert, and he coughed, hard. Tucker quickly turned on his side so he could curl up like he wanted, clutching at his chest. He could hear Church’s high pitched worried or angry voice in his ear, but Carolina was the one who helped him sit and take the water that had been beside his bed to drink. 

 

“It’s fine, Tucker, just breathe,” her voice soothed even as it commanded. He nodded, though he hated being coddled like this. He knew he had to breathe, it was just fucking hard when he was trying to cough his lungs through his fucking throat. “If it helps, Wash went to see Doctor  Grey about getting something for your cough. You should take your antibiotic now that you’re awake.” 

 

“How long?” It’s all Tucker trusted his wrecked voice to get out. 

 

Church seemed to get the gist of his question, thankfully, and said, “It’s 1800. You’ve been asleep since 0600. According to Wash, they didn’t want to wake you when they got back with the antibiotics.” Tucker nodded, and Church continued, “This planet fucking hates you, dude.”

 

Tucker huffed out what little of a laugh he felt wouldn’t trigger more coughing, and nodded in agreement. He then pulled his covers right up to the bottom of his chin and settled in. He would get up, but Carolina could kick his ass on his best day, and Church would agree with her like he always did. Fucking AI. 

 

“Good, you’re awake.” Washington strode into his room like he fucking owned it, and if Tucker weren’t tired and sore almost everywhere, he’d make more of a fuss about it. “You kept coughing in your sleep, you know.” Wash was completely out of his  armor now, and was setting up pills and a bottle of something that definitely wasn’t vodka on his side table with the water. The model of an efficient dickhead, Wash got all the pills together and tugged Tucker’s blanket down to free his arms. “Take these.” Tucker listened, but only because he wanted to. Not because Wash in command mode was hot or anything, and he wanted to please him in some small way. Not at fucking all. Wait, what? 

 

Wash frowned when Tucker just held the pills in his hand for several moments before he swallowed them. Before Tucker even  realized , there was that cool hand again, but on his forehead before it trailed to his cheeks, and finally his neck. Tucker leaned into each touch, but only because the coolness felt good against his skin. Then there was a tiny little cup of something that smelled awful, even through his congested nose, in his hands, and he was being directed to take it like a shot of tequila, but without the salt or lime. Somehow it managed to taste worse than the said tequila. “We’ve got about ten minutes to kill until you’re going to want to pass out and stay that way for about six hours. If you’re hungry, now would be the time.” 

 

Tucker shook his head and shivered. For that cold hand against his face feeling so good, who would have thought he’d actually feel cold. He should be feeling warm, right? 

 

Carolina was looking  over the edge of her report at the both of them when Tucker glanced that way, and Church had disappeared again. Her eyes darted from Tucker to Wash and back again before she abruptly stood and made her way to the door. “Feel better Tucker.” The door hissed closed behind her, and Tucker was disappointed Church hadn’t said anything to him. Well fuck him too.

 

Wash’s eyes followed Tucker’s and he sighed. “He was actually worried about you, you know. Screeching, high-pitched, angry-sounding worry.” He settled in Carolina’s chair, though he moved it closer to the bed. The screech of the legs against the bare floor made Tucker wince and bury his head in his hands. Wash muttered an apology and from the sound of it, went completely still until Tucker  looked out from between his fingers. 

 

“You do the same thing,” Tucker said quietly as he readjusted himself in the bed to rest his head in the pillows. It was too hard to hold it upright, and he swore he could feel his pulse on his scalp under his hair. He was distracted, so he hadn’t noticed his eyes had fallen shut until he felt the covers moving over his body. “M’awake,” Tucker said. 

 

“I know,” Wash replied, as he kept tucking the blankets around Tucker, who tried to open his eyes again when he felt the bed dip beside him. He quickly gave up that notion, however, when he felt Wash’s  hand on his forehead. It was cool and callused and  _ oh god yes _ He felt Wash’s thumb stroking across part of his eyebrow. It was affection he so rarely received that he gave up any fight he had going with staying awake.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Tucker fought his way back to the surface of his mind with a little difficulty. He let his eyes stay shut until he heard a muttered, “That’s total fucking bullshit.” Tucker blinked his eyes open and turned his head to the side where the chair had been. It was no longer there, and the screen in the corner was on with Grif looking at it. Grif seemed to catch himself, and then glanced over his shoulder, soda halfway to his mouth. “Shit. Sorry, dude.”

 

Tucker shrugged and sat up, Grif watching his every move as he swung his legs out of the bed. “I have to take a piss, can I do that?” Tucker coughed into the crook of his elbow. It was only when Tucker started to stand that Grif averted his eyes. Then Tucker felt the breeze.  “Oh yeah,” he said. “Sorry.” 

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Tucker,” Grif muttered as he stood and made his way to the dresser in the room. He managed to find a pair of boxers and a tshirt and threw them over his shoulder in Tucker’s general direction. Tucker let out a soft snort of laughter and picked them up with a shiver. “Be warned, Tucker. While my back may be turned so I don’t have to fucking look at you, I will not hesitate to throw you over my fucking shoulder to put your scrawny ass back in bed if you try to leave. I will fucking sit on your legs dude.”

 

Tucker let out laughter as he slid on the boxers and shirt. “Is that what you tell Simmons? Bow chicka bow -” The coughing that escaped him now was harsh and made him sit back on the bed.    
  
“That’s what you fucking get, asshole.” Despite the almost harsh words, Grif had turned around at the sound of the bed and moved over immediately to pour some water and get his next round of medications ready. “You’re a fucking prick, you know that? I could be having Bitters do all my shit for me, and instead I’m doing shit for  _ you _ .” Tucker merely raised his middle finger in response. The water was soothing, and Tucker didn’t  realize he’d even downed the cough medicine until after he’d done it. Tucker glared at Grif, who just smirked. “I had to keep you in my lair somehow, numbnuts.”

 

“You’re a complete asshole.”

 

“And don’t you forget it.” Grif sat back in his chair. “Go take a piss, dude. You can pass out again so I can finish watching whatever the hell this is in peace.” He leaned back in his chair and took a swig of his soda.

 

Tucker shook his head and headed toward the bathroom. There were two entrances, and he planned on using the one that led to the corridor to get the fuck out of his room for a while. He was getting really sick and tired of all the hovering.

 

Once he’d relieved himself, he threw on the first pair of sweatpants that didn’t look filthy and keyed the door to the hall open. He immediately ran into the orange armor of Grif. “Son of a bitch,” Tucker muttered.

 

“I fucking knew it. That’s it. I’m sitting on you.” Apparently, despite Grif’s laziness, he had the motivation to haul a protesting Tucker over his shoulder in a very fucking unmanly carry. Despite there being the bathroom right in front of him, he took a cursing and coughing Tucker back to his room through the hallway, giving whoever was in the vicinity a good view of his admittedly quite fucking lovely ass, however briefly before he was tossed on the bed unceremoniously. There was a minute where all Tucker could do was catch his breath between the coughs from his vehement assertions that Grif was a massive cock bite. The next he opened his eyes, there was a very heavy Grif on his feet and a glass of water in front of his face. “Drink it dickhead.” He glared, but complied so the glass in his throat would hopefully dissolve. “Now, we are going to play Blackjack because you don’t need to talk to tell me whether you want to hit,” here he tapped two fingers on the covers, “or to stay.” This time he put his hand flat on the blanket. When it’s call I think I can handle the math. Capisce?” 

 

Tucker cocked an eyebrow and put his middle finger against the blanket and tapped twice. 

 

\--

 

They were maybe ten hands in before Tucker felt the pull of the medicine. Grif would pretend not to notice, but it had to be obvious how his head fell back against the pillows a couple of times. Without words, Grif shoved another glass of water with his pills at him while he decided whether or not he wanted to risk another card when he had a king and a 6 of clubs already. He snatched them and motioned for another card as he took them. 

 

“Dude, are you ever gonna stop fucking giving me the finger every time you want a card?”

 

\--

 

“You can’t leave him like that, ya dirtbag,” a gruff voice commanded, and Tucker felt something lift from his feet. He made a soft noise, because whatever was on his feet had been fucking warm, and his toes were missing the heat.   
  
“Sarge, all due respect, shut the fuck up. You’re gonna wake him up. You know how many hands of Blackjack I had to lose to do this? An embarrassing amount, that’s how many.”

 

“Dammit, boy, get your shit and get out before I shoot you.” 

 

“Fine.” 

 

It was quiet for a few seconds, and Tucker thought he heard the door close. He shifted his head, and felt it fall forward toward his chest. 

 

There was a sigh, and a barely audible, “Damn kids.” He couldn’t tell you how he ended up lying flat again, but he did feel a stray dread picked away from his face and a calloused hand against his forehead. “You’ll be the death of me yet, damn heathens.” The hand pulled away and Tucker frowned, until he felt another blanket cover him, warmth seeping through his own standard issue cover. 

  
He slipped back into sleep to the sounds of a shotgun being cleaned carefully and quietly at the end of his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. I meant to post this this last weekend, but I got sick. Fucking awesome. At least I'll have some good material. Seems I always get sick when I write on this. D: Oh well, short chapter, but I shall write more!


	3. Chapter 3

In a contrast to the scent of gun oil he remembered the last time he may have been somewhat coherent, this time his nose was assaulted by the strong smell of lilacs. He wrinkled his nose and the tingling started between his eyes, signalling a sneeze that he wouldn’t be able to stop. 

Once the sneeze wrenched its way out of him, he greeted his newest visitor. “Hey, Donut.”

Donut had made his way to the bed as soon as the sneeze had started. “Good morning, sleepyhead!” Tucker opened his eyes, thoroughly annoyed at how chipper Donut was. 

He immediately shut them again once he caught sight of the outfit. “Jesus Christ, Donut.”

“What? I never clean without my french maid uniform, you know that.” Tucker dared to open his eyes. Donut shook his head, the flop of blond on top of his head falling into his eyes. “And from Grif and Sarge, you’d think this room had never been cleaned before.” He waved his feather duster at the pile of trash that was ready to be disposed of. “You’d be surprised how hard Cheeto dust is to get off of a remote control.” Tucker just shook his head, and started to sit up, wanting to just walk around at this point. He stopped when all of his muscled seemed to protest. His groan was soft, but Donut, being who he was, was there in just a second. “Do you want some help?”

“No,” Tucker whined. “I want to be alone for ten fucking minutes without someone breathing down my damn neck!” While he was vehement, his voice was also soft, because he wasn’t fucking stupid, and really didn’t want to hurt his already sore body by causing another bout of the debilitating coughs. 

Donut nodded. “I’ll tell you what. How about a deal? You take your medication, and I’ll take this trash out. I promise I won’t be back for at least an hour, if you promise you won’t leave this room.” He had a hand on his cocked hip, dark blue eyes scrutinizing Tucker in his bed. 

“I guess I shouldn’t bitch about that,” Tucker whispered, offering a crooked smile. 

“That’s right. I’m leaving your helmet on the table, in case you need anything. I’ll make sure no one bothers you for the whole hour. I’ll break out Officer Hot Pants if I need to.” 

Tucker’s face must have been hilarious, if Donut’s laughter was anything to go by. “Shut up. And take your candle with you. I think I’m allergic or some shit.” Tucker rubbed at his nose, fighting the sneeze that threatened. “Jesus.” He lost the fight, but managed to cover his face. 

“Gross,” Donut said from across the room, and disappeared into the bathroom to bring him some tissue. “I’ll bring the real stuff when I come back. I’m sure there was some in the common area earlier.”

“Thanks,” Tucker said. He was feeling more relaxed already, as he wiped at his nose, and then tried to breathe through it, to no avail. “Ugh.” He flopped his arm to the side, to reach for his data pad, finding the space for it on his table empty. “The fuck?” He lifted his head to peer over the edge of the bed, hoping that it had merely fallen to the floor. “Donut, did you move my data pad?”

Donut had just blown out his candle and was putting the trash into a bag, Tucker’s laundry by the door. “Nope. But I’ll ask around while I’m out for you if you want.” At Tucker’s nod, he smiled. “I bet someone took it so you wouldn’t be doing work when you’re supposed to only be working on getting better.” His smile was soft. 

“What the fuck are you even talking about? Did Grey take it?”

“I don’t think so. But if you haven’t figured it out yet, maybe I shouldn’t tell you.” A lace skirt twirled as Donut hefted the trash in one hand, and had Tucker’s laundry balanced on the other hip, feather duster and cooled candle nestled into the fabric so they wouldn’t fall. And just like that, Donut was gone. 

“The FUCK is that supposed to mean?” He called out, but the door didn’t open again, and Tucker was left in silence. Then he coughed. “Fuck.” He pushed off the covers and put his feet on the floor. He really needed a damn shower. He had really lost track of time between sleeping and playing blackjack with Grif. He felt gross. 

The floor was freezing under his toes, and he shivered. Hot shower it was then. He absentmindedly reached for the meds on the table, and downed them. He’d promised, and while he knew he was an asshole, he wasn’t that much of an asshole that he would ignore the promise he made. He had an hour. He’d make the best of it. It looked like he and his right hand had an impromptu date. 

He stood and walked across the room, and it must have been the medication kicking in early, because he felt like he was floating across the floor. Once the water was running, and the steam filled the bathroom, he took his first deep breath in what felt like ages. If he had to steady himself against the wall when he took his boxers off, that was because he hadn’t been getting enough oxygen. 

The warm spray felt amazing against his skin, and he just took a few moments to just bask in it, one hand on the cool metal of the wall. He quickly took care of his hair, and as he scrubbed across his body, he found his back against the stall shower. Funny, he didn’t remember taking a step backward. He leaned forward again and rinsed. When his forehead hit the metal next, he decided he should probably shut off the water. It had gotten far too hot in the bathroom. He thought of his ‘date’ and mentally shrugged. It’s not like he didn’t have other opportunities to get off, after all. 

‘Water, Tucker,’ he berated himself, and reached to press down on the knob that would shut off the near scalding spray. His hand slipped a couple of times before it found purchase and cut off the spray. He took another breath of the steam, and rested his forehead back against the rapidly cooling metal wall. He still had to wring out his dreads, and the prospect of standing while he did that was exhausting. So he leaned backward, and slid down the wall carefully, sitting right in the stall. Then he reached up and started to grab groups of the hair, slowly wringing them out. This is where he’d normally flip his hair over his head back and forth a few times, to get the water to move more quickly towards the ends, but he felt far too unsteady for that. So he just kept squeezing the hair, until he heard the door open. 

Donut’s voice called out, and Tucker could imagine how worried Donut was. He took a deep breath to call out, and then immediately coughed, finally moving some of the gunk from his lungs. He spat it into the drain of the shower, and Donut’s hand was on his bare back, rubbing gently. “You’re freezing. How long have you been down there?” He reached for the towel on the bar and started to dry Tucker’s back. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until Donut rubbed warmth into his arms when he didn’t answer. 

“No way that was an hour,” he whined, and looked up, hoping the frown he wanted to be there was there. He knew he should feel uncomfortable naked, but it was Donut. 

“It was almost two,” Donut said. “I got sidetracked. But on the plus side, you have fresh laundry. I think it’s still warm. I hope so.” He made sure Tucker was wrapped in the towel and helped onto the toilet seat before he left the room. Tucker blinked heavy eyelids as the fluffy maid skirt bounced back into view, clothes being set carefully on the edge of the sink. “Here we go, up you get.” He stood Tucker up as Tucker protested. “Oh hush, you’re gonna get dressed, and then you are going right back to bed Mister.” 

Tucker frowned, and then snatched the underwear from Donut’s grasp. “You fucking suck.”

“And you should have not sat on the shower floor for however long,” Donut shot right back. All Tucker could do is blink at that as he leaned forward to put on his underwear, Donut’s hand coming out to catch his shoulder as he started to lean too far forward. “Easy, do you want some help?”

Tucker appreciated being asked. It was freeing. Instead of someone forcing the help on him, he was offered a choice. This time, the choice of letting someone else do the work as his scalp pounded, head feeling swollen and tight across his skull, was appealing. “Yeah,” he whispered, letting his shoulders droop. At least his dick was covered at this point. 

Donut nodded, and reached for the pants he’d brought as Tucker sat on the toilet again, wishing he had something cool to lean his face against. It was only a second before a shirt was going on over his hair, and Donut’s hands pulled the only slightly damp hair out of the collar. Tucker got his arms through on his own, and Donut pulled on his arm to get him to stand, hitching the pants up with the bare minimum of contact. Tucker appreciated it. “You’re welcome,” Donut said softly, and Tucker didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud. He walked back into the sleeping area and flopped immediately onto the bed, curling up into a ball under as much blanket as he could tug to himself. 

“Stay put and get some sleep,” Donut said as he pulled the blankets out from under Tucker so he could properly cocoon. 

The door hissed open, and Doctor Grey entered, releasing the seals on her helmet, her hair pressed to her head in an awful case of helmet hair. “Hello, gentlemen,” she said, far too cheerily for Tucker’s taste. 

“MMnh.” He glared over the top of his blanket burrito.

“No need to be hostile, Mr. Tucker, I had some free time and just wanted to check on how you’re doing,” she said as she sat her helmet next to his on the table. She slid off a glove and moved to lay her hand against his brow. “You’re still very warm,” she tutted and sat on the edge of his bed, a stethoscope being pulled from a compartment on her armor. Tucker pulled his blankets closer. “Don’t be stupid,” she said, easily tugging his blankets away from his top half. 

“Hey!” he squeaked, then coughed, as Grey put her cold stethoscope against his back and listened as he hacked. She even went as far to hold up a hand to Donut to keep him back. 

“That’s a good sign,” she said softly, moving the stethoscope across his back as he stopped coughing and took some air into his lungs. “Looks like you’re moving the fluid out of there. Take another few deep breaths for me, Tucker.” She moved the now warm metal to his chest and listened there, head cocked slightly to the side. “Okay, good.” She smiled and put away the instrument, moving to tuck his covers back around him. “I bet you’re probably hungry. Grif told me you turned down some food last night.”

Tucker grumbled, and let his head fall against the pillow as hard as he dared, which felt like falling on a cloud really. He blinked slowly. “No.”

Donut spoke up then, soft from behind Grey. “I can get the kitchens to make something light, if you want.” He moved closer and sat on the other edge of the bed, so Tucker was sandwiched between the two. “Soup, crackers, or maybe something cold?” 

All the choices had Tucker’s head reeling. Not in the good way either, because he had to close his eyes for a few seconds to get the room to stop moving behind Donut’s head. “Don’t care,” he muttered. 

“Probably the soup would be best,” Grey said, as she watched Tucker’s eyes intently. “And something a little sweet to go with it, if you wouldn’t mind?” It was as nice as Tucker had ever heard her, and although he wasn’t really hungry, it wouldn’t hurt. He hoped. 

Donut nodded and gently rubbed at Tucker’s cocoon before he rose. “I’ll make sure it gets taken care of,” he said with confidence. 

“Give it a few hours before it’s brought down. I’d like him to sleep for a little while first,” she said, finally looking away from Tucker. Donut nodded as he left the room, a flip of lace the last Tucker saw before the door hissed shut again. 

He pulled his eyes away from the door to look back at Grey after a few moments. “Still here?” He groaned, turning his head into his blankets. 

“Thought I’d keep you company for a little while, if that’s alright? This is the quietest place I’ve been all day, and I would love to get some paperwork done.” She shifted over to the chair near his bedside table. Tucker shrugged, though he wasn’t sure if it could be seen outside of his blankets. Either way, Grey took it as no contest and settled down, beginning to hum. Normally he would have kicked her out just for that, but the tune was soothing, and he really had nothing else to do without his data pad, so he listened. 

As his eyes lowered, the humming turned into soft words that he couldn’t quite figure out. He wasn’t quite ready to sleep yet, as he hovered on that precipice for a while, and the singing tapered off. He heard the tapping of her fingers on the screen of her pad, and the door opened once more. 

Grey’s voice was quick to speak, and low in volume. “Shh, Agent Washington, he just fell asleep.” Tucker tried to focus more, and shifted his head the smallest bit in order not to fall into the blackness of sleep. 

“Oh,” There was an abrupt halt of all noise for a second as he settled further into his cocoon. When Tucker went still again, Wash continued, “Should I leave?”

“Actually, would you mind sitting with him for a little while? I had Donut go down to order some food for him, and I want to make sure he actually eats. His blood sugar is a little low.” There was a scuff of metal near his head, and movement near his bed. He wanted to open his eyes to see what was going on, but his eyes felt heavy and warm, and he really didn’t want to move. Was Grif’s laziness contagious? 

There was another movement, that sounded like the door and Tucker wrinkled his brow. Was everyone leaving? He grunted a little, and there was a warm, callused hand on his forehead. “Shhh,” the voice whispered at him, and he settled. Everyone hadn’t left. Relief made his mind sink further into the darkness. He pushed further into the hand on his skin and finally let himself drop off the edge of the sleep cliff, the hand on his head the parachute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No longer sick, though I had a killer cough for a while. Something must have said, now you have motivation, write bitch! LOL
> 
> About to head out of town for a wedding next week, may not update for a little longer this time. :(


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so this took way longer than I wanted. My old computer sucks, but thanks to Amazon, I'll have a new one tomorrow! (Prime FTW, and yeah, I work for them, so, product placement. See that Bezos? I want a raise!)
> 
> But I do have some hella inspiration for the next chapter, so I'll be plodding away at that. Thanks for the lovely kudos and comments and I'll see ya soon.

There was a cliff, and Wash was hanging from it by the barest tips of his fingers. Locus was above him, gun pointed, though his boot came crashing down instead of a bullet flying through Wash’s helmet, like Tucker would have thought. Wash’s scream was cut short as he fell, and Tucker finally felt himself rushing forward, past the armor of all of his friends, even Palomo was there, among the bodies. 

 

Tucker felt the stab of the knife before he even saw Felix, but he had to keep going, Wash was falling, and how was he going to survive that? They’d just gotten everyone back together. 

 

He couldn’t lose everyone. Not like this. He couldn’t be alone. Not like the desert. Not again. Blood coated his fingers as he stumbled the last few steps to the edge of the cliff, Locus nowhere to be seen. 

 

Wash’s body lay at the bottom, unmoving armor against a dusty backdrop, helmet shattered, blue eyes staring at Tucker even as they stared at nothing. 

 

“Tucker,” a voice said, and then there was a knife at his neck, and he was choking on his own blood, falling over the cliff himself. 

 

\--

 

Tucker shot up, coughing, hand immediately going to his neck as he felt himself coughing up moisture, his own blood, there was Felix and -

 

Wash’s hands held his shoulders still, pressed a pillow into his chest, wrapped his arms around it, then held his face and directed it to his. “Hey, it’s okay.” Blue eyes bored into Tucker’s, and after a few moments it registered that he wasn’t bleeding out, Wash and his friends weren’t dead. He was covered in sweat, and Wash was still here. The coughing subsided, though he cleared his throat a couple of times to get rid of what he knew now was phlegm. “Hey,” Wash said, awkwardly as he leaned back a little. “You good?”   


  
“Yeah,” he rasped out, and felt Wash’s hands leave his face. 

 

“Well, I’m no doctor, but I think your fever broke,” Wash said, voice light as he wiped his now damp hands on his pants. Fingers not crushed as if a boot had stepped on them, eyes no longer unseeing. Tucker let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and Wash looked at him, and his gaze made Tucker squirm uncomfortably.. “Wanna talk about it?”

 

Tucker blinked, and looked down at the pillow he still held. “Not really.” he pulled his knees closer and leaned against them, face toward Wash. “Were you here before? When Doctor Grey was here?” He didn’t want to think about the fact that if he wasn’t, then he’d dreamed Wash twice. “And why did you make me hug a pillow?” He blinked at it, and slowly let it go. 

 

Wash grimaced. “I did some reading. It provides support when you’re coughing.” He sounded a little defensive and didn’t even answer the first part of Tucker’s question. 

 

“Whatever,” Tucker said, and coughed again into the crook of his arm. 

 

Wash shifted in his seat, eyes to the side, to the door. “Want me to leave?” He was prompting for something.

 

The small burst of panic Tucker felt in his chest was enough to get him to say quickly, “No!” He was a little surprised at the vehemence in which that one word came out. Wash himself seemed a little alarmed as well, and he kept his seat. He wasn’t leaving, and that’s really all that mattered. “Just, no. Please.” 

 

“Okay,” Wash said simply. Like all Wash needed right then was for Tucker to say to stay. Like all of his responsibilities for the armies of Chorus were nothing. And God, if Tucker wasn’t waxing fucking poetic. “Sure you don’t want to talk about it?” 

 

Tucker bit at his lip for a second, and said simply, “They killed everyone.” Wash nodded and leaned back in his chair, long legs stretched in front of him, and waited. Tucker wondered how long he’d been sitting in that chair and if he was uncomfortable. “You were at the bottom of a cliff, the rest of my team was dead, so were the reds, and then Felix-” Tucker took a deep breath then and shut his mouth. “My bad, dude, you can totally get out of here if you want.” He flipped his pillow back behind his head, and flopped backward, holding back more coughs. 

 

“Yeah, no, not going anywhere. You’ve gotten out of training, so you’re going to help me with paperwork,” Wash said, and there was Tucker’s data pad being set on his chest. 

 

“You’re the cock bite who stole that? I was looking for that! And you stole it so you could GIVE ME MORE WORK?!” Tucker’s muffled scream set his coughs loose, and then he had a mouth full of fucking disgusting shit, and was running to the bathroom to spit it in the toilet. “Fuck.” 

 

Wash was right behind him. Apparently he’d followed. “That’s why I took it. I didn’t want to give you the work until your fever was down. The last few days, your body needed the rest. You still do, so you’re going to do work until I leave, and then it’s coming with me. When Doctor Grey clears you, and you’re not coughing so much, you can go back to limited physical training.” 

  
  
“Oh my GOD, you mother hen worse than Donut!” Tucker had made his way back to the bed, since Wash had reclaimed the only chair in his room. He still held his hand out for the data pad though. Wash set it in his hand, and raised his own back up to his face. Tucker quickly scrolled through the information that Wash had sent him. “The fuck? These are all stupid as hell!”

  
  
“Welcome to the bullshit of being an officer Tucker. No more dodging paperwork.”

 

“FUCK.”

 

\----

 

“Why can’t I just swipe like on Tinder?”

 

“First, because that’s older than your grandparents, and second, because you’d end up approving someone like Palomo to use a rocket launcher. Do you really want that?”   


  
“FUUUUUUCK.”

 

\----

 

There was a knock at Tucker’s door, and he blinked bleary eyes away from the screen to see Donut, back in his armor thank God, with a tray from the mess. Tucker’s stomach made it known that he was starving, and he threw the pad on his bed. “Fuck yes.”

 

“I’ll take that as you want this,” Donut teased, as he balanced the tray on one hand like a waiter. At Tucker’s look, he merely stepped forward to admit himself and Lopez and to let the door close. “Doctor Grey said you don’t have to eat it all, but you should try.”

 

As Donut set the tray on a somewhat flattened section of blankets, Lopez strode forward and snatched the data pad from where Tucker had tossed it and handed it to Wash. “ Parece cansado , no es obra.” 

 

“It’s not a good idea to make a cactus out of pickles, Lopez,” Donut replied as Wash took the data pad. 

  
  
“I don’t think that’s what he said, Donut.”

 

“Do you speak Spanish?”   


  
“No.”   


  
“Then you don’t even know.”

 

“Mierda.”

 

\----

 

When Donut and Lopez had left, Tucker had demanded the data pad back and managed to get in some more work while laying on his back (bow chicka bow wow?). The first time the screen smacked him in the face, Wash was up and taking it from his lax fingers. “Okay. That’s it for today.” 

 

Tucker whined. “C’mon, Wash, it just slipped. I wasn’t falling asleep!” He sat up and contrary to what he’d said, he rubbed one of his hands over his eyes. Wash just raised the eyebrow bisected by a scar and sat back. “Okay fine, my eyes are tired, but I’m way to awake to go to sleep.” 

  
  
“Then watch one of those recorded programs. You can’t have seen them all.” Wash had stood and gathered his things, including Tucker’s pad. 

 

“UUUGH.” Tucker flopped back on his bed again, one leg dangled over the side. 

 

“Now who’s dramatic?”

 

“Fuck off.” 

 

“Let’s go for a walk then. It’ll do you some good to get out of here. Let the air recyclers get rid of the stale air.” 

  
  
“ _You’re_ stale,” Tucker retorted, even as he stood up and went to find his shoes. He was so not putting on his armor at this point. 

 

“Worst comeback ever.”

 

“Of all time, I know. Go fuck yourself.” Tucker tugged his shoes on, and tightened the laces the best he could. When Wash didn’t answer, Tucker looked up to see the door closing behind him. “Hey, asshat, wait up!” Tucker made for the door as quickly as he dared. 

 

Wash was just waiting outside. “Thought you’d want to change or something. It’s warm outside.” 

 

“Fuck that, I’m comfortable.” Tucker straightened and started to walk toward the common area while Wash followed behind. He cautioned about walking too fast, to not strain himself, but Tucker was so enamored with being awake and out of his quarters that he could really give less of a fuck. 

 

“Seriously, if you start getting out of breath, let me know.” 

  
  
“Yes,  _ mother _ .” Tucker rolled his eyes and grabbed a handful of tissues from the box near a sofa and stuffed them in the pocket of his sweatpants. “I’m going outside, and you can either follow me, or do whatever boring shit it is that you do when I’m not around to keep you from boring yourself to death.”

 

Wash’s sigh was loud and put upon if Tucker didn’t know any better. “I guess I’ll keep you from dying. Palomo would be distraught if you keeled over.” His voice was dry and Tucker tried to hide his grin. Motherfucker.  Tucker keyed the door to the outside, and it slid slowly open, letting the evening sunlight fall onto his face. It was fucking awesome. When he opened his eyes, Wash was watching him, brow raised, but face otherwise unreadable. “I swear, you’re like a cat sometimes, Tucker.” 

 

“Wait, is that a smile, Agent Doom and Gloom?” Tucker watched as Wash strode past him toward the training area, steps far shorter than they would otherwise be. He was still being coddled. “Was it, I didn’t know Agents could fucking smile. I mean, look at Carolina!” 

 

There was a ricochet between himself and Wash. “What was that?” Carolina shouted from the shooting range, Epsilon a little blue blink against the drab background over her shoulder and the sniper rifle. 

 

“I know you want to put a bullet in me and all, but how bout something more substantial! Bow chicka bow-” He doubled over with coughs. Wash was by his side in an instant, face beet red, but hand careful on Tucker’s shoulder. “Worth it,” he said when he got his breath back in him and stood back up straight. Carolina hadn’t moved an inch, rifle still focused on him, but hand nowhere near the trigger. 

 

“Yeah. You do realize that if you weren’t sick and had your armor on, she wouldn’t have missed on purpose.” 

  
  
“Still would have been worth it.” 

 

Wash rolled his eyes and steered Tucker away with a hand on the small of his back. “Sure thing, Tucker.” 

 

“Don’t patronize me.”

 

“Do you even know what that means?”

 

There was a beat of silence where Wash looked down at Tucker, who suddenly found the words that were in his mouth suddenly disappeared. Because fuck, Wash had sun going through his hair and right into Tucker’s eyes. And suddenly all Tucker could see was freckles, and he didn’t mean the gun. His chest felt tight, but he didn’t feel the need to cough, and wasn’t that a change from the last few days?

 

“Hey assholes.” Grif strode lazily up to them, Simmons in tow like always. “Wash, Kimball wants to see you in her office.” The sun now glinted off the visor of Grif’s armor, and Tucker could breathe a little easier somehow. “Simmons too. Before you ask, fuck if I know what she wants.” He just pointed in the direction of Kimball’s office, like Wash wouldn’t know where it was if he didn’t. 

 

Wash nodded. “I’ll see you later, Tucker. If you need anything…” He trailed off. 

  
  
“I’ll get it my damn self.”

 

“Right.” Wash sighed, and started off. 

 

Simmons shook his head and laid his hand on Tucker’s shoulder, where he felt the sun-warmed armor through his shirt. “Good to see you up, Tucker. Glad you’re feeling better.” And before Tucker could reply, he jogged off after Wash. 

 

Grif watched Tucker watch them walk off, and shook his head. “Dude, you are so fucked.” It was a phrase Tucker himself had uttered sometime ago back in Blood Gulch when he’d caught Grif staring off after Simmons. 

  
  
“No, I’m not,” Tucker rebutted. “He just asked me if I knew what patronize meant.” 

 

Grif released the seals on his helmet and lifted it to give Tucker a stare. Then he took his hand and put it on Tucker’s chest right where he’d felt the not-urge to cough earlier. “Felt something right here?”

  
  
“Yeah, but I mean, I had bronchitis.” 

 

“Dude. You. Are. So. FUCKED.” He tapped Tucker right on the same spot, and when there was no cough forthcoming, Tucker’s eyes went wide. 

  
“I am so fucked,” Tucker groaned. 


	5. Chapter 5

Kimball had left the meeting with Agent Washington and sighed. Supplies weren’t going to last like this if they didn’t get the upper hand. And soon. Agent Carolina had some ideas, and they would be good ones if it weren’t for the fact that they didn’t have the kind of soldiers that she was used to. This time, the other side had the upper hand in training. Carolina and Washington were working the best they could with the current troops, but that kind of training took years, or just being plain ruthless. None of the kids she’d talked with had any of those things in them. 

So currently she was taking a walk to clear her head. It was getting cooler outside now, so she walked indoors, just passing through the corridors and nodding at the people who saluted her. Her people, and if she were lucky, some of the Federal Army wouldn’t spit in her general direction. 

When a message popped up on her HUD, she quickly scrolled through it, and sighed. She replied calmly, and kept walking. She’d spot who was ‘missing’ soon enough, she was sure. Then she disengaged the locks on her helmet and ran fingers through her hair to dislodge it from against her head where she didn’t want it to be. The downside of a war, you literally always had helmet hair. 

She turned a few more corners, offering a smile instead of a tilt of her helmet now that it was off, and walked into one of the less populated common areas. There was actually no one in here at the moment, except for one lone soldier, sprawled on the sofa in his sweats, data pad pressed against his face as he let out a soft snore. She smiled softly, and keyed her radio to quietly say, “I’ve got him, Wash.” 

While she waited for Washington to arrive as she knew he would, she knelt by Tucker’s head and peeled off a glove to ever so gently lay her hand against his forehead. His brow wrinkled, and she quickly pulled her hand away. He needed his rest. She heard shoes scuffing the floor softly behind her and stood to face Wash. 

She saw the soft sheen of sweat, and knew he’d jogged here, helmet in his hand, because he hadn’t even bothered with the rest of his armor. But when Wash’s eyes landed on Tucker, they softened, and his whole body seemed to relax. “He wasn’t in his room.” 

“This is the first time he’s been out of his room in a while. Give him some credit. He knows not to leave the city.” Her voice was pitched low, and she set her helmet on the table beside her. “He won’t ever say it, but he wants to help however he can.” 

“I know.” His voice was gentle, and she found him looking at Tucker again. “It’s gonna get him killed one of these days.” He sighed and moved closer, like he didn’t even know he was doing it. His eyes never left Tucker as he talked to Kimball. “I don’t think we could stand to lose…. I don’t think I could stand to lose him.” He sighed and knelt by the sofa. When Wash’s hand touched Tucker, he didn’t even stir. Kimball glanced between the two of them, and couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face. 

“I know. He’s become family to the New Republic. The annoying, perverted older brother, but still family.” She placed that ungloved hand on Wash’s shoulder. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, you know; and the way he talked about you before they went to retrieve you.” She paused, mainly for effect, because this was something she may only get to do this once. “Just know, if you hurt him, I will not be pleased.” 

Wash looked up sharply, since he hadn’t even been looking at her before when she was talking, one disbelieving eyebrow raised. “Are you giving me the shovel talk?!” His voice, though it was starting to squeak, was still kept quiet, in deference to the sleeping Tucker. 

Sure, he was a big bad Freelancer, or used to be, but she felt that fondness in her heart for all of them. If she didn’t live through this war, she hoped at least the Reds and Blues would, and as many of the New Republic as she could keep safe. So she just raised her head and smiled at him. “If it helps, I can tell him the same thing when he gets his thoughts in order on the matter.” 

Washington shrugged and let his lips quirk up in a smile, and Kimball thought it looked a little sad. “It’s fine,” he insisted. “Help me get him up, he should be sleeping in a bed.”

Kimball just smiled. “It would be my pleasure.” She just turned and faced the couch, and snapped, “Front and center, Captain Tucker!” She used her most firm voice as neither her or Tucker we're wearing their helmets. 

Tucker sat abruptly, and his eyes wide and searching as the data pad fell from his face to his lap. “The fuck?!?” He observes the two people in front of him, and scowled. “I hate you both. So fucking much.” He took a few quick breaths, then a deeper one, and rubbed his chest. “The fuck do you want?”

“No one’s seen you since you were with Grif earlier. I assume people were worried,” Kimball stated, nudging Tucker’s legs with her knee so she could sit on the couch beside him. Kimball saw Washington’s face start to go a little red when she glanced over at him. 

“Grif was being an asshat, nothing new there,” Tucker grumbled under his breath after that, and crossed his legs, leaving Kimball plenty of space. He took his pad and checked the screen, and only cursed when it didn’t turn on. His arms raised as he prepared to throw it across the room, only to be stopped by Wash’s hands. 

“Seriously? It probably just needs to be charged.” Wash tugged the pad out of Tucker’s unwilling fingers and checked the device himself.

“Bullshit, I’ve never seen anyone charge one of these things.” 

“That’s because most people put them on charge when they go to bed, Tucker,” Kimball couldn’t help but interject. “But now I’m curious, how long have you had that and not charged it?”

“Fuck, man, I don’t know. Wash, when did you bring me that?” Tucker wrapped his arms over his knees when he looked up at Washington, his head tilted to the side. 

“The last time it was charged was last night. For it to have run out of power so soon…” He trailed off and fixed Tucker with what Kimball was beginning to realize was a look Wash saved for when Tucker was being spectacularly stupid. “Were you working the entire time we were in that meeting?”

“No.” Tucker said. “I slept too.” He let go of his knees and crossed his arms over his chest instead. 

Washington sighed a long-suffering sigh and nodded. “Right.” 

The fire alarm broke the tense silence that had followed. 

Wash’s face went pale. “Has anyone seen Caboose?”

Tucker and Kimball stood as one and raced toward the mess hall, Wash hot on their trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, more than a year, I think. Don't judge me. I do have the next two weeks off, so who knows, maybe I'll actually write stuff while I'm on vacation. :3 
> 
> Thanks for all your kind words, and I'm really glad you like this fic! It makes my heart happy.
> 
> The POV did change for this chapter, to get me out of my rut. I should be back to Tucker next chapter.
> 
> Also - May the Fourth Be With You


End file.
